


The Curious Case of the Magical Mistletoe

by 4Eirlys



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Idiots in Love, Protective Merlin, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4Eirlys/pseuds/4Eirlys
Summary: It's Yuletime in Camelot, but disaster has struck! Arthur broke courtship of Guinevere due to his uncle Agravaine's slimy interference. With less than a sennight till the Yuletime Banquet, Arthur remains conflicted between duty and love. Luckily, the King has a Warlock by his side, who has been struck with the festive spirit. His gift this season shall be the gift of love. How? With some special help from enchanted mistletoe which will help true love... At any cost.
Relationships: Freya/Merlin (Merlin), Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story shall be around twelve(?) chapters long. It's at least nine, so you can only go up from there!

**The Curious Case of the Magic Mistletoe**

**Chapter 1 – The Reason Why**

**Arthur's POV**

Arthur sat alone at his desk gazing at the massive amount of court documents which adorned the wooden service. With each sheet of parchment, he had to look it over, approve the plan and sign it.

And each document was  _ extremely  _ boring.

It didn't seem real, somehow; not the dullness of the parchment (for it was well known that all legislation was a bore), but the fact that  _ he  _ was signing them. Now that his father, Uther, was dead,  _ he _ was the ruler of the mighty Camelot.  _ He _ was the person to make, break and sign laws now and although Arthur would never admit it to anyone, the new position scared him. He might have been trained to be King all his life, but he had never exceled in the matters of the Court: it was in the training grounds where he lived and breathed. Thank Camelot his uncle Agravaine had offered to help manage his affairs and give him guidance when due.

Shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts, Arthur dipped his quill into the pot of ink that seemed permanently attached to his desk and ceremoniously signed his name on the document that was the quota for the daily food intake. Ever since the run in with the leader of the Unicorns, Arthur had taken overseeing the food and water quantities very seriously, and the rare occasions when he went down the lower town and met his people, he always asked them if they had enough. 

He had learnt the lesson on what it felt to have no food in your belly.

And from thinking of the Lower Town, his thoughts went to his precious Guinevere. His gentle Guinevere whose kindness knew no bounds. Even in the dark days after his father’s death, Guinevere had been unwavering in her support for him, allowing him to mourn the lost of the man that murdered her father. To help assuage the spirit of a kingdom who mourned the passing of their King, she had declared under his name that a Yuletide celebration would be held for  _ all _ citizens of Camelot, whether they be rich or poor. There would be dancing, a great feast comprised of seasonal and traditional food many of its attendees would only have dreamed of, never to be sampled by them.

It had to be perfect. It would be the first large official banquet since his father's demise. Not only were the eyes of the court upon him and assessing his hosting skills, but the kingdom at large was watching him closely. One wrong step, Arthur knew, and Camelot would fall into disarray. The Kingdom was already torn by Arthur’s overtures of peace to the Druids – for many, inviting the peasants were the final straw.

The next forty minutes passed with him presiding over the documents strewn over his desk as he cross-referenced the figures with earlier reports and checked that the wording had not been changed since the idea was first proposed. It wouldn’t be the first time that certain conservative members of his Court would attempt to swing legislature in their favour, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last either. To say he was relieved when a loud knock came at the door was an understatement. His writing hand was  _ aching  _ from holding the quill in position and if it continued like this, he wouldn't be able to take part in the sparring practise that was going to be held the next morning.

"Come." Arthur called out imperiously. Knowing that it wasn't Merlin (did the idiot even  _ know  _ how to knock?) it was either a servant, or somebody of importance. Judging by the authority in the action, he suspected it was the latter. 

"I am sorry to disturb you, my lord." Agravaine said as he entered the chambers, stopping shy of the overburdened desk Arthur was situated behind.

"Uncle,” Arthur said, surprised. “Was the ride not to your satisfaction? I thought you had plans to check in with your estate?”

Agravaine blinked. “Yes, mi’ lord, I did. Unfortunately, I encountered severe flooding on the road. It appeared one of the storm drains was blocked, and it rendered it impassable. I had to turn back.”

Worried, Arthur pushed his chair back and stood up, crossing the short distance to the window in two long strides. Agravaine’s estate was to the south west, with the quickest route to take out of Camelot the Western road. It was the same road which the merchants carrying twenty of his swans were to be traversing. The birds took a long time to prepare – he couldn’t afford anymore delays. Frowning, he opened the window to allow a better look across the city. Squinting, he could see no long queues forming for the smaller, Southern road, nor indeed the opposite: the road was positively bustling.

“I see no signs of distress with the townsfolk,” Arthur remarked. “Surely you warned the guards that the road was blocked, Uncle? Important supplies for the Yuletide festivities are due to arrive later today. If they are delayed it would be most inconvenient for the kitchen to deal with.”

He turned back around to face his uncle, just in time to catch sight of a worried grimace on his uncle’s face, before it was smoothed over with a wide smile.

“Of course, I informed the guards immediately. It’s likely they managed to clear the blockage.”

Gratified at his uncle’s feeble attempts to comfort him, Arthur strode forward to pat his uncle’s shoulder, taking the opportunity to stretch his limbs in the process.

“Thank you, uncle, for your diligence. Now, what may I do for you?”

Uncomfortable with the attention, Agravaine shifted slightly. "I dare hope that my advice has been of use these past months." He began, but almost before he had stopped speaking, Arthur interrupted to say indignantly;

"Of course it has, you know that."

"There is something I wish to discuss with you. But... it is a delicate matter." Agravaine began, successfully casing Arthur’s curiosity to overcome his annoyance.

"Yes?"

"It concerns Guinevere."

Arthur’s stomach dropped through the floor, leaving the many grapes which he had scoffed earlier at supper to hang disarmingly in space before following suit. 

"What about her?" 

Was Guinevere hurt? Had she taken a fall? What if Morgana had found her? What if- By Camelot, what if she was  _ dead? _

"She's a beautiful woman, sire, and possessed of many fine qualities, I have no doubt.  _ But _ she is a servant."

"That doesn't matter to me." Arthur said, a warning tone to his voice. It was true what he said; he really didn't care what status Guinevere was, as long as she was  _ his. _

Almost hastily, his uncle seemed to backtrack in an attempt to calm his king. "Nor to me, I assure you. No, i-it's your people that concern me."

Still feeling nausea, he felt, rather than moved, back to his seat. It was more of a collapse than a dignified setting down of the bottom, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care. For that matter, he couldn’t bring himself to meet Agravaine’s eyes either, instead fixating on a slither of parchment filled with miniscule writing. Those documents certainly looked interesting now. He wanted his uncle out of the room, to halt the words that the King was sure to spew out of his mouth in his vicinity.

"Well, surely as king, I can do as I see fit." 

"No sire, you cannot. You must do what is expected of you. You must present yourself in an appropriate manner. The people... _ your _ people do not wish to see their king with the daughter of a blacksmith."

"This isn't a matter of state. This is a matter of the heart." Arthur protested to his uncle, desperate that he of all people would understand.

"Camelot is in a precarious position right now. You  _ know  _ this. Offering the olive branch to the druids after your father succumbed to his eternal sleep because of magic has already caused a great deal of alarm and unrest. Your choice of consort was a controversial issue before, and now this idea that we break fast with the commoners! The people fear that you have become lost, sire. That you are enchanted, and that Guinevere is the Sorceress who has bewitched you.”

“But that’s not true!” Arthur cried out.

“Yes,  _ I  _ know that. But the people don’t.”

“Then I’ll make a proclamation,” Arthur said dismissively. His anger at the situation stabilised his stomach, allowing him to finally meet his uncle’s eyes. But instead of comfort, all he found was heart-breaking conviction.

“You cannot rule the kingdom with your heart, Arthur.” Agravaine said gently. “Your father understood that."

Arthur started to fiddle with the pile of paper in front of him; a movement that he was sure didn't go unnoticed in front of his beady eyed uncle. He always hated it when people compared him to his father, for they were two separate people, who had two separate minds, and ways of thinking. But nobody saw that. Nobody realised that, except the few; like Merlin...

And Guinevere.

"You are strong.” He continued quietly; his voice still filled with fatherly affection. “You don't let your emotions cloud your judgement in the face of battle. You fight with your head like a strong king must."

Unhappily, Arthur agreed.

"And now you must show that strength again.” His uncle continued, taking the agreement that the King gave and pushing forward in advance, “Set aside your personal feelings for the good of your  _ kingdom _ ."

"Set aside my feelings for Guinevere?" 

Dread was rising in his throat. He so desperately wanted his uncle to contradict what he had just said, to deny the foul idea that was growing, worming its way into the King’s mind. Not for the first time, he wished that his father was still alive. It had been so much easier when he was a prince, free to make his own choices.

"I'm afraid so, my lord." Agravaine said, practically oozing dismay and regret.

The King wished him to go away, to simply  _ leave him alone.  _ He wanted his uncle to go out of the room so he could pretend that those hateful words had never been uttered, had never been thought of. In what was the first sensible move that his uncle had done since the meeting began, Agravaine left immediately after his parting shot, not even bothering to say goodbye. He left Arthur alone in his chambers, gazing into a tumbler of wine.

_ Love or loyalty? _

_ Heart or State? _

A pause, as the King tried to ignore the basis that it came down to.

_ Guinevere or Camelot? _

* * *

"Arthur." Gwen called. Reluctantly, Arthur turned, to see his former beloved backlist by the multitude of candles in her home which he had gifted her over the last few months of their now defunct courtship. She had her arms wrapped tight around in the pretext of clutching her shawl, but the tremors of her voice belayed the true intention. 

"Don't let anyone tell you what to do. You said you are your own man. You have a good heart. Be true to it. Only then will you be the king you want to be." 

The didn’t give her a response – he couldn’t. He simply turned, and walked back out into the night.

Alone.

As he should always be.

* * *

Thankfully, the next day dawned bright and early for Arthur. He had had no sleep whatsoever, the scene with Guinevere last night on a playback loop in his head as his heart tortured him on the decision the King knew he  _ had _ to make. He felt trapped in his position, in his own body that rebelled against him with its foolish notions of love and loyalty. By the time Merlin arrived, his dishevelled master was raring to go down towards the training fields, which was where they were now.

As even Arthur recognised that if he went into sword fighting, whoever his opponent was wouldn't be able to come out alive, he decided to work on his muscles, using the punching bag, which Merlin was helpfully holding in position. With the sun low in the sky, if he squinted slightly, the dollophead’s silhouette warped, becoming suspiciously akin to his uncle. After two minutes of nonstop hitting, Merlin finally spoke up – much to Arthur’s begrudging surprise, who hadn’t thought the latter had that much willpower.

"You seem tense." Merlin gasped, chest heaving as the punching bag swung into his face.

"What do you mean "tense"?" 

"You know...agitated. On edge. Angry." Merlin said, describing him annoyingly perfectly.

"This is not anger, Merlin. This is controlled aggression!" And with each word, his punches were faster and harder, so by the word 'aggression' he had hit his hardest yet, which resulted in the bag coming loose of its hanger and falling to the ground, taking Merlin with it.

"I'm glad we cleared that up." 

After another ten minutes of punching bags (all which eventually came off the hanger) Arthur gave up training in the area of punching, and instead went into weaponry. He threw an assorted number of knives and swords at the various wooden and cloth targets. Normally, Merlin went behind to steady them, but sensing his master’s mood, he pointed out that the swinging target made it harder to hit, and wasn’t Arthur supposed to be a sharpshooter? From there, archery, before engaging in a premeditated group exercise of tracking through the city, where the young knights in training ran through following the carefully placed tail tale signs of their 'enemy', the Knights of the Round Table. 

After an exhausting three hours, Arthur finally called it to a halt, signalling that the session was over for the day. Even when he snapped at Merlin for taking too long, his manservant remained strangely silent. It was when Arthur began to storm back to the Great Hall that he finally spoke.

"What's the matter Arthur? And don't tell me there is nothing wrong," He added when he saw Arthur's mouth opening to voice his protests. "Sadly, I know you better than you think."

War raged internally. If the King could speak to anybody about his issue, it was Merlin. For such a clotpole, he was a surprisingly astute person. It had not escaped his notice that Merlin knew everybody’s name in the castle, from servant to noble, and that he was friendly with all. He had witnessed first hand the moral dilemmas that had been thrust upon him as prince, and had not-so-gently guided him through all of them.

And yet -

Arthur was under no illusions that he was Merlin’s sole friend. Before the idiot had met him, he had met Guinevere. it had been  _ Merlin  _ who was willing to claim magic so she could walk free. It had been  _ Merlin  _ who Guinevere had collapsed into their arms, sobbing uncontrollably after finding her father slain.

It was no longer relevant what he may, or may not, want for himself. 

"What's no longer relevant?" His manservant wondered curiously.

Just then, Guinevere rounded the corner, balancing a heavy load of laundry on her hip. With slight bags under her eyes and her worried hair coiling around her shoulders, she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Instinctively, Arthur continued onward, already reaching out to take her load from her, and caress her cheek as he bade her to accompany him for supper. She lifted her eyes wearily at the approaching footsteps, already scooting to the side in order to let them pass. As soon as they met, Arthur felt it: the electronic shock which sparked every time they interacted, the love which swelled from his heart. She too, felt their connection, blood rushing swiftly to her dark cheeks, a falter in her step.

_ “Set aside your personal feelings for the good of your Kingdom.” _

And so Arthur brought his arms down, and his smile dimmed as he wrenched his gaze from hers, but not before he saw the pain.

Because they had to. Their relationship was forbidden. 

Progress resumed immediately, as waves approach the sand. Inexplicably, intolerantly, relentless despite their savagery upon the land. Now they were only a foot apart, and Arthur wanted to scream as she halted, heaving the basket uncomfortably on her hip as she dropped into a low curtsy, head bowed as she gazed steadily at the floor.

"Sire." She said, her voice barely reaching a whisper’s decimal, so laden was it with emotion.

The King acknowledged her deference and loyalty with a regal nod of her head, continuing straight past the servant as she scrambled to her feet. Generously, he ignored her curse, and the dull thwap of cloth hitting the floor that sounders mere seconds later. Behind him, Merlin made sloppy excuses for his behaviour as he crouched down to offer her his assistance. With one last promise to bring her a remedy of Gauis’ later, the manservant departed, breaking into a run to catch up with Arthur as he turned the corner.

“I thought it was the knight’s code to be helpful?”

“No. It is the knight’s code to be honourable, steadfast and loyal.”

“I think Lancelot would disagree with you there,” Merlin jibbed, half underneath his breath. Anger flared in Arthur at the implication, though he bore it down quickly. 

“Still, it’s not - Oh.” Merlin’s face cycled through many expressions in the seconds that slogged by. Confusion, recognition, sadness, horror, before finally settling on white-hot fury, which blistered so strongly that Arthur took a step back to get away from it. “You broke courtship with Gwen.”

"Yes." Arthur said simply.

Merlin frowned. “Why?”

"A good king rules with his head, not with his heart." Arthur stated, nearly parroting word for word what his uncle had said to him that fateful night.

"Well that's where you obviously went wrong, for your head has such an inflated opinion of him that it cannot see what is right in front of him!" 

"It's no longer relevant what I may or may not want for myself." Arthur said, repeating himself once again as he tried –and he didn't know why, for the manservant's opinion should not really matter to a King- to justify his actions that didn't even concern the servant. But then again, this was Merlin, friends with the people involved. And you know; it was  _ Merlin. _

"Agravaine put you up to this, didn't he?" Merlin accused, stopping right in the middle of the corridor. "And you  _ actually _ listened and  _ agreed _ with him?" he added in disbelief.

Unwillingly, Arthur stopped walking and reluctantly turned around to face his manservant.

" _ Lord _ Agravaine," He said pointedly, for he knew that Merlin didn't trust his uncle, "has always given me good advice in the past. In this instance, he is right. The Kingdom is unstable right now, and our enemies are not all outside Camelot. I must be strong for the good of the people."

"Gwen  _ is  _ good for the Kingdom! She’s also good for  _ you." _

"You're wrong, Merlin. I don't need anyone. I can't afford that luxury." Arthur stated as he watched Merlin become upset over  _ his  _ relationships. "The kingdom's my responsibility now. Mine to bear alone. And you must learn to accept that." 

The Great Hall thrummed with activity as the servants completed decorating. Stopping to speak with everybody present, Merlin lurked behind as a disapproving shadow, though Arthur doubted if none bar him could tell. As soon as a fellow servant engaged him in conversation, the manservant was all smiles and laughter, often referencing events Arthur bore no knowledge of. After suffering through conversation with the event coordinator and castle steward, made inordinately long with unnecessary platitudes, it was with relief that Arthur finally shook them off, leaving them to squabble about mistletoe. Left to stand in the centre, it was not long before Merlin materialised next to him.

“You took your time,” Arthur said accusingly.

Merlin shrugged. “I didn’t think you would need help from a  _ commoner.” _

Arthur blinked at the venom directed towards him. Before he could take action however, Merlin sighed and slumped into his jacket.

"If you have broken courtship with Gwen, which of  _ course _ is  _ none _ of my business, are you still continuing with Yuletide celebrations?"

"Surely if I just went round the  _ whole _ hall talking to people about preparations, doesn't that signify something?" Arthur sarcastically responded. Seeing the manservant merely blink at him, he rolled his eyes. It was a miracle Merlin managed to get anything done: he lacked in the brain department so. The King’s speech was slow when it resumed, speaking his reasonings aloud. "I admit, it was her idea, but yes, I am continuing ahead with the idea. It will not suit my image if I back out now, with less than a week to go. The Court and council will not approve and it will make me look indecisive. No, the festivities shall continue."

Thankfully, Arthur was saved from further argument by the castle decorator gliding up to the pair. "Sire, would it suit to have mistletoe through the castle? It runs with the traditional theme, but also with the romantic one."

Arthur was not prepared. His stomach plunger as his breath caught in his throat:  _ she  _ would have liked this - how many lamentations had he suffered adoringly through regarding the romantic trysts of the castle? Guinevere's heart was sometimes her undoing: since achieving bliss with Arthur, she had dreamt to spread the joy to others. Realising that several minutes passed since the enquiry, he cleared his throat, deliberately avoiding their gazes as he stared at the window, where knitted streamers were being fixed. 

“ Not around the castle, no. I think it should only be here, in the Great Hall, where we have the celebration. It would probably slow down work as people will no doubt get distracted by them."

Smiling in the dreamy fashion that the decorator always favoured, Luna said, "Of course, Sire. I will put a servant onto it right away, although most are busy with the preparations. I am sure someone would volunteer."

She curtseyed - though it was not as exquisite as  _ hers  _ \- and turned to leave her liege. She was waylaid however, by Merlin, who had stepped forward to lightly place a hand on her shoulder.

“I shall pick the mistletoe today, Luna. Gauis has already given me a list of herbs to pick in the forest, and it will save sending another to do the same route I have to take.”

Luna hesitated, looking to Arthur for approval. “Does sire approve?”

"I suppose so. Merlin would only get under my feet anyway. Yes, he can go and collect the mistletoe." Arthur said in a resigned voice. He was both relieved and saddened by the decision, the curious mix borne of the desire to be alone.

"Thank you Sire." Luna said, before she waltzed away with parchment in her hand as she ticked another item of her list.

As the decorator bid farewell, the Manservant turned to face the King with a gleam in his eyes. Automatically, Arthur frowned: bad things tended to happen when Merlin was excited. In a tone that brokered no argument, Merlin said, "I'm going to go now and pick the herbs for Gaius and the mistletoe for Luna. I haven't picked this kind before, so I don't know have far they are from Camelot. If I’ll do it now, hopefully I’ll be back for dark. If you don’t want to starve, you can feed yourself.”

Before Arthur could remind him that  _ he  _ was the one to give orders, Merlin was out the door, bading everybody with a cheery wave.

* * *

**Merlin's POV**

It turned out that the herbs were indeed, deep within the forest. Three hours later, Merlin  _ finally _ managed to return to his and Gaius' shared quarters after spending an age in the forest. The herbs that Gaius had asked for him to pick (for once, he hadn't been making it up!) were to help relieve congestion and serious indigestion of the gut. With the incredible amount of feasting planned, more stock was needed, as it was likely that not only would the lords overindulge, as they did so every year, but that the servants, unused to the rich food, would end up seriously incapacitated. This was all fine and dandy with Merlin, except they just  _ had _ to be situated in the most disgusting conditions you could find.

For instance; Fenugreek grew by the side of a river or stream bank (somewhere where a lot of water would be available) which wouldn't have been such a difficult task... except some  _ lovely _ animal who visited the stream a lot decided to leave Merlin a little present _.  _ Yuletide traditions be damned, he did not wish to stink like the underhouse. 

The Hogwort was definitely the worst though out of the three of them (the third was Hollyhock, which grew next to or near a holly, so that was a nice simple task). Like its name suggests, it was like a wart... on a  _ hog _ (to be fair, it grew on a hog of wood, but  _ still!) _ . But it couldn't be nice and easy, oh no. It had to be difficult and grow in specific conditions, which meant in a warm, humid place with loads of water nearby, so it  _ obviously _ grew on a miniscule log in the middle of a swamp _. _ Merlin had a truly incredible time, even when he fell in and became covered with swampy gunk and smelly water dripped as he trudged through the roads of Camelot. But at least he got all of the herbs  _ and _ the Mistletoe.

So the experience helped to make Merlin's already dour mood worse. 

For he was still agitated at the arrogant, stupid and the idiot man who was also crowned King. For after all of _his_ hard work of getting the servant and the Prince together and to encourage their love to know no bounds, it had all gone to waste. And why? Because the _prat_ and dollophead had listened to the advice that the slimeball Agravaine whispered poisonously into his ear.

Looking down at the innocently looking plants that were set out on his own rickety table in front of him, Merlin grinned wickedly at the plant that led people to kiss others below it. When Luna had offered him the chance to get the mistletoe, Merlin  _ had  _ to grab the opportunity, as it was simply too good to miss, especially seeing as Arthur and Gwen had broken courtship.

But that was all about to change. For the wondrous and magnificent Merlin was going to  _ fix _ things between the two. In fact, for it was Yulemas and he was feeling the Yulemas spirit, he will also mend it for other folk as well. 

It had always saddened him when people ignored, pushed away or didn't find their true love. Merlin had been lucky enough to find his, luckier still to share one sweet kiss. Even though he was meddling in other people's love lives, it was for a good cause. He was doing it for  _ her, _ for the time which they never had. Even if they never got the chance, others deserved better.

Holding his hand palm out in the direction of the plants, Merlin concentrated for a moment to recall and fit together the right words into his mind, before whispering quietly;

_ "Galan æferðe Mistletoe sciepen sinhíwan rihtgeléaffulnes bróðorlufu!" _

Merlin smiled as the Mistletoe shone a soft gold glow before it faded. The enchantment had taken home. Let the fun begin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will likely be updating every two days. I know this will bring us out of the Christmas period, but hey, we're all going to be in lockdown so who cares?!

**The Curious Case of the Magic Mistletoe**

**Chapter Two**

**Merlin's POV**

In total, twenty decent size bustles of mistletoe were enchanted. A few straggly bits also received the spell, but they were more likely to be rejected by the castle decorator for being too stringent. Still, it was a fairly good haul, which would hopefully be more than enough to achieve their purpose. With that done, he set about to give himself a good wash. Considering that he had fallen into the swamp no less than three times, it was only basic hygiene (and a skill which the majority of the knights sorely lacked). A glimpse of the city clock tower could be caught if he leaned out of his tiny window just right and - ah! With the hand striking two, there would be more than enough time before he had to resume his duties. Though his exit had been swift, it hadn’t escaped his notice that Noel the event organiser had been approaching Arthur with an entourage of servants laden down with foodstuffs for the King to sample.

Normally a bath was a luxury Merlin couldn’t afford, both in terms of money and in terms of time. Gallivanting off with Arthur took up a great deal of the day, and more often than not by the time he returned Gauis had a list of patients as long as his arm who needed medicine delivered. Thankfully, the court physician was making the rounds in the lower town, and so he was left blissfully alone. Body already aching, he inwardly groaned at the thought of lifting the heavy copper bath out of the cupboard which it normally resided in and up the stairs.

With a glimmer of gold, the door to his bedroom unlatched, opening obediently to the empty physician chambers. Satisfied that no-one was coming - thank goodness for magic enhanced senses - Merlin shifted slightly to allow him to view the cupboard better. Another flash of gold and a flick of the hand later, the copper bath lumbered through the air towards him. It took a surprising amount of effort to keep his cargo steady in the air. The steps leading up to his room was particularly troublesome but eventually he managed to squeeze it through to set it down before him.

“ _Feormian dust rénian!_ ” He cast a critical glance over the empty tub. Once satisfied that he had indeed, dispatched all the dust into the little bowl beside his bed - he’ll throw it out later when he left his quarters - he quickly cupped his hands together over the metal carcass and said, " _Waeter_!"

Immediately, a stream of water came out from Merlin’s hands and into the directed tub. Channelling more energy into the spell, it increased to a steady flow, then a torrent, soon filling it to the top. He eyed it cautiously before tentatively dipping a mud splashed toe into the water. A loud yelp tore his throat as he startled back: the water was _beyond_ freezing. It was a miracle ice hadn’t formed.

" _Onhǽte þá wæter_ ." Merlin commanded, pointing his hand desperately at the water. It was with satisfaction as he watched wisps of steam emit. Carefully making sure that less power was put into the spell than last time - the cabbagehead _still_ went on about the time Merlin almost boiled Arthur alive - it was with confidence that he dipped his mud sodden toe into the water. Letting out a moan of delight at the perfect temperature, he eagerly stripped down and clambered quickly into the tub. As an afterthought, he gestured for one of the straggling pieces of mistletoe to be submerged alongside him. Soon after, his room became saturated with the heavenly perfume of mistletoe as the Warlock washed his woes away.

* * *

Merlin managed to have an hour before he was interrupted by someone moving in Gaius' chambers below. He had just decided to ignore it and hope that whoever it was would go away when a woman’s voice rang out. Though it was clearly supposed to reflect festive cheer, the attempt was poor and only succeeding in making her tone morose.

"Merlin, are you there?" Gwen called from inside the other room as she wandered about looking for her friend. Cupboard doors opened and shut - did she think he was playing a jest on her? - but seeing no-one there, she spoke again. "Please, Merlin? _Please_?"

Though it had never been his intention to hide from Gwen specifically, the heartbreaking intonation heard as her voice broke on the last syllable destroyed that last remnant of Merlin’s original plan. Automatically, he reached up to muss his hair, the action borne of irritation with his other half. Goddess, the prat was so _stupid._ Water flowed down his hand to his elbow, before it dribbled back into the tub, the very audible tinkling sound practically reverberating through the chamber.

He winced.

"Merlin? Is that you?" 

Frantically, the manservant started to rise up out of the water when he realised she was heading towards him. All of the water rushing off his body gurgled as it surrendered to gravity, ensuring that if Gwen didn’t know where he was before, she did now. In a frenzied rush, he searched the room for a towel, before cursing when he realised that he had left it downstairs. Silence greeted his relief as he eventually spied the worn stretch of cloth which normally acted as a substitute blanket crumpled on the floor. Eyes flashing gold - thank the Goddess for his magic - it zoomed towards him.

"Are you hiding from me?"

His irises were still the colour of dawn as he forcefully removed all of the once hot water from his body, dumping it in the bath and causing himself to subsequently dry in the process. The stairs outside the door creaked quietly as a slight woman made intent on finding her wayward friend made use of them.

“Please Merlin. I - I need someone to talk to.”

Successfully guilt tripping Merlin – even if she didn't mean to - the manservant hastily shouted, "Bear with Gwen. I’ll be there now in a minute!”

But her footsteps didn’t stop. Manically wrapping the cloth around his waist so it covered his private parts, he used his gift to shove the bath tub into the corner of his room. Finally deeming himself appropriate for visitors, he strode over to the door and opened it to reveal Guinevere with her arms outstretched, clearly in the act of opening it herself.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting Gwen. I was just having a bath when you interrupted me and I thought you would appreciate making myself decent. _Clearly_ you didn’t.”

She flushed, the colour flooding her worryingly pale cheeks and highlighting her suspiciously red rimmed eyes.

"Oh." She said awkwardly, clearly surprised. Realising that Merlin sensed this, she hastened on in her defense, "I thought you were avoiding me!"

"And here I was thinking you were shocked at my lack of clothing. You wound me,” He retorted trying to lighten her mood. He grinned when he saw her blush darkened in reply, the answer plain.

"Of course not!" 

"Shame. I swear that once upon a time, if you saw me like I was now, your dream would have come true!" Merlin teased, successfully drawing out a smile from his companion.

Her retort was quick. " _Perhaps_ that might have been true, but then I found someone more worthy of my attentions!" 

"Perhaps? _Perhaps!"_ Merlin exclaimed indignantly, exaggerating the motion of putting his hands on his hips. "If I recall correctly, it was _you_ who kissed me first! Not the other way round!"

"Yes, yes." Gwen said impatiently, "But you never conveyed the same feelings, so when I met - when I met..." She trailed off, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Oh _Guinevere_." Merlin said softly, before holding his arms out wide. "Come here."

Gratefully, she moved in for the hug, wrapping her arms tight around Merlin as if she would never let go. The sniffs were quick to follow before choking up completely as sobs wracked her frail body.

"It's just..." Gwen sniffed, trying to find composure. "We've been together for so long and through so _much_.... it seems unreal that we are apart."

Sensing that she wasn’t in the mood for him to rib Arthur, he merely settled for “I’m sorry.”

At his statement, Gwen lost her last tendrils of control. All Merlin could do was simply hold her as she fell apart. After a few minutes lumbered by, he began to rub small circles on her back, the action reminiscence of a brother comforting his younger sister. He had always wanted a sister: one born with the same gifts as he, so that he would no longer be alone. Though he had Will, their relationship was a different kind. The farm boy’s view of his magic turning from a gift, to a curse and back again tessellated so quickly it gave the Warlock whiplash. Despite Will apologising profusely sometime later, blaming the shift on the wandering priest devoted to Uther, their relationship had never fully healed.

Gradually, the sobs decreased in number, albeit the shudders remained as strong as ever as Gwen moved from loud to silent crying. It signalled that the end of the bout was near. To help ease the transition, Merlin said mournfully, “I don’t know why I bothered drying myself. I’m soaked again.”

Gwen gave a little sniff at this, though Merlin wasn't sure if it was a remnant from crying and its affiliated conditions, or whether it was a poor attempt to laugh. Shakily, she withdrew from the hug. Heartwrenchingly however, she stayed in close contact with the manservant, as if when she fully let go of Merlin, she would lose him too.

"I'm sorry Merlin. I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine Gwen." Merlin butted in,rushing on to reassure her when doubt flashed in her fawn eyes. "Really, it is. Otherwise, what would friends be for?"

"Th-thank you.” She sniffed again and angrily wiped at her eyes. “It's just that... even though I have always prepared myself for it – breaking up with Arthur I mean - when Uther was King, I had always thought that when _Arthur_ became ruler, the rules would be different... That he would change them well, for _me._ For _us,_ so we could be together. When he was talking to me, I thought that - that he had been put up to it by someone, but then he (Arthur) said that he hadn't and I..."

“You believe him.”

Gwen looked up hesitatingly to meet his eyes, openly baring her soul to him. It was answer enough.

Merlin swore. “That greasy clotpole of atwit Agravaine put him up to it. _Honestly._ When will Arthur learn?”

"Merlin!" Guinevere gasped, momentarily putting aside her heartbreak in favour of the ingrained action of defending etiquette. "You can't call members of the court _names_."

"Even if it's true?" Merlin said, practically whining, causing Gwen to laugh and reply;

"Even if it is true, which _,”_ She added hastily, spying Merlin’s expression of agreement, “I'm _not_ saying it is."

"Regardless, _Lord_ Agravaine won’t be going underneath _my_ mistletoe."

"What?" 

Beholding the flabbergasted expression on Gwen’s face, Merlin pointed towards the mistletoe that was still laid out on the table where he had left them earlier. Enchantments were peculiar things: when the focus was organic, they needed to almost marinate their host before the magic could be activated. 

"Luna wanted some mistletoe for the banquet. I -“

“It’s still happening?” Guinevere demanded, confused. “I mean, obviously I’ve been helping to prepare for it but I thought that was simply because the King,” Goddess, Merlin’s stomach plunged when he realised Gwen referred to Arthur by his proper title, voice wobbling in the processy, “had not yet notified them of the cancellation.”

“Oh no,” The Manservant reassured her. “It’s happening. It seems that even when Arthur has broken courtship with you ‘under his own wishes’” Merlin rolled his eyes, “He still cares about you.”

“I doubt it.” 

Deciding that was a battle for another day, Merlin proceeded onwards with his explanation regarding the plants. Though it seemed almost cruel to use Guinevere so, it was useful for her to see them now in their ‘natural’ state. If anything went wrong with the enchantment later, he knew she would vouch for him and certify that they had not been enchanted at that point. Even though Arthur would callously deny their relationship now, his affection for her would sway any judgement he made.

“Anyway,” Merlin gestured once again towards the mistletoe, “I volunteered to get some. I know there’s some variety there, but I figured that any excess could be quietly given to the servants to decorate their homes with. Saves them having to venture into the forest later.”

Gwen flashed an approving smile at him before venturing towards the table. She examined them closely, saying in wonder, “They're beauties. Look, see how pure white the berries are? They almost seem to give off an unearthly glow."

And _this_ was why it had been a fool’s idea to allow Gwen into his room. Merlin had forgotten that Gwen was always so observant, even though it was one of her greatest traits. Of course she had noticed the barely discernible: to the naked eye, the enchantment was absent. To the gifted, the plants shimmered with life. But to Gwen, beautifully, terribly aware Guinevere, there was something _other_ to them.

“Pretty enough to tempt Agravaine?”

“Mmm. I think beauty is more than enough to tempt _him_.”

Slyly, Merlin said, “What about Arthur?”

Immediately, Gwen stopped her scrutiny of the plants. Her brow furrowed and when she spoke, her frown was clear in her voice.

“ _No_. It’s not happening.”

“What?” Merlin asked flabbergasted.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. Verily, Arthur had been a dollophead to listen to his uncle’s poison, but it was what Arthur _did._ He messed up in his friendships and relationships because it was the one area he had never received guidance in. He was the most emotionally constipated person in Camelot. That was why the match worked so well: Gwen was the eyes and ears to his heart. She was the musician to his instrument, the only one who could create music from the tangle of his keys. There was no other who could read Arthur as well. Guinevere was his _heart._

She couldn’t reject him.

"You heard me." Guinevere stated firmly. "Arthur was the one who broke up with me,. He is the one who has the _honour.”_ Here, she spoke with a curious expression on her face, and Merlin absentmindedly wondered if it was one of the listed excuses for his actions. “If he wishes to resume our courtship, then so be it. He is the King of Camelot. He could have any woman in the kingdom. If he wants me, then _he_ will have to decree it.”

For the first time since meeting Guinevere, Merlin found her stubbornness and resilience wearing. Normally, they were for good, if slightly misguided reasons. But for this?

"But _Gwen_ -" 

"No. _If_ Lord Agravaine really did put Arthur up to this, then Arthur _must_ learn to make decisions by himself, especially with matters about the heart. He is a strong ruler and a good man. He alone will know what is best." 

"Fine." Merlin muttered, backing down after she glared at him.

Luckily, she didn’t notice that behind his back, his fingers were crossed.

* * *

"I'm back." Merlin yelled as he entered the Great Hall.

Although the decorating was still ongoing, the hall had completely transformed from when he and Arthur were in here earlier. The hustle had died down somewhat, likely due to the secondary luncheon for servants taking place in the mess hall below. It was easy to locate the castle decorator, with eight short strides taking him to her side.

“I’ve brought the mistletoe.”

“Thank the King,” Luna breathed. “You were supposed to be back nigh on one hour ago!”

“I fell into the swamp. I thought it best to clean up before I resumed my duties. Arthur would’ve complained otherwise.”

“I am sure the _King_ will be most relieved,” Luna replied absentmindedly as she took the basket of mistletoe from Merlin. In turn, she analysed each clump of mistletoes, scrutinising them to such an extent that Merlin began to fidget next to her. He hadn’t anticipated such thorough inspections: had his plan been a rash one? Gauis always berated him for his tendency to underthink things.

"These pieces are _wonderful_. Lots of berries, beautifully white, bright green leaves, very picturesque." 

Then, without further ado, she turned away from Merlin. Immediately, servants clustered around her, pressing in close to one another and listening intently as she gave them instructions. A great deal of hand jabbing and finger pointing went on, before a resolution was reached, where they promptly split up in allocated pairs, each servant wielding a basket adorned with mistletoe.

“I don’t know why you’re dillydallying Merlin,” one of the passing servant said. “The King’s in a foul mood, and you’re going to make it worse if you serve him with his dinner cold.”

Merlin grimaced, but did as he was bid. A lovelorn Arthur was never a very pleasant one. For once, the food should be delivered on time. After all, it was always easier to reason with him when his stomach was full.

He found Arthur sitting at his desk in the Royal Chambers. To the untrained eye, the King was diligently attending to the mounds of parchment that adorned his desk, with several important looking documents strewn at the centre. To Merlin however, it was clear Arthur was in disarray. For a start, one of the files had collapsed at some point, leading to a small avalanche down the right side of the desk. Some pieces had managed to flee halfway across the room, but less fortunate ones had become trapped by Arthur’s chair leg, and undoubtedly, was irrevocably ruined. Then there was the King himself: hair rumpled in places from when he had run his hands through multiple times in frustration, shirt untucked from the wrongly buckled belt, and two boots which had been kicked off and landed in opposing ends of the room.

All in all, he looked like a very upset overgrown toddler who had got messy after their parents had left the room for a minute.

"Having fun?" 

The King started in surprise, sending some more parchment crashing down. Acting as if that was intended, he drew one to him and began the illusion of reading it thoroughly.

“You took your time.”

“Aww did somebody miss me?” Merlin continued, under his breath, “Your parchment did at any rate.”

"Yes." Arthur said simply. Merlin froze, his eyes widening and his mouth falling open in disbelief. Goddess, he really _did_ miss Gwen. Without missing a beat, Arthur continued, "The floor needs to be washed and scrubbed, the bed made, my clothes checked over for any holes and mended. There aren’t supposed to be holes in my sleeve, _Mer_ lin, even an idiot as thick as you should know that."

"How else are you supposed to put your arms in?” Merlin retorted, noticing with satisfaction when the King briefly smirked.

"And of course, after that you will report to the various Stewards to help out with the decorating. That reminds me; I assume you were competent enough to get at least _some_ mistletoe?"

"Only just; I managed to obtain seventeen bunches –"

"Seventeen?" Arthur interrupted, "You can count?"

"Unlike you, yes. If I recall correctly, _you_ were the person who thought you had ten fingers."

"I do!" Arthur indignantly retorted.

Shaking his head in sorrow, Merlin mourned. "To think that even with all of his royal tutors and better education, the _King_ doesn't know that _normal_ people have eight fingers and two opposable thumbs. For shame!"

"I see that Gaius has taught you well." 

"Unlike you." Merlin countered. Quickly changing track he busied himself with clearing the parchment, sneaking a glance at Arthur as he casually said, “At least that’s the romantic element of the celebrations sorted." 

For once in his life, Arthur was observant and as such, was quick to mask any reaction he may have had. He snorted, "Very subtle." 

"I try."

"But Merlin," Arthur said, abruptly. "Whilst I appreciate your gesture, I will _not_ be using it. Need I remind you that we discussed this earlier and we reached an agreement?"

"That was before I spoke to Guinevere."

This time, Arthur flinched, as if something had struck him hard. To give him the illusion of privacy, Merlin turned to collect the tray.

"She came to me in her free time, and we talked. She mentioned that she thought you had been put up by someone else to do it and I agreed with her. Is it true, Arthur?" 

Turning around, he glared at the King, who shifted uneasily in his seat. It was all the answer Merlin needed. Angrily, Merlin slammed down the tray laden with food, watching in satisfaction when some gravy droplets landed on the prat’s doublet. He would pay for it later when he washed it: but right now, he didn’t care.

"You _love_ her Arthur! It’s one thing to deny your feelings when you were a Prince, but only a coward does when he’s the K _-_ "

"Stop it.” Arthur commanded. "It is inappropriate for a servant and a King to have a relationship."

"Well sometimes you've got to do what you think is right, and damn the consequences!”

With that, Merlin whirled away from the King and began his remaining chores. Even when Arthur’s surprise at his outburst changed from anger, to sadness, and finally, to self-loathing, the Warlock ignored him.

He did not speak for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your kudos, and for Mum for commenting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Merlin’s POV**

As if to reflect the Warlock’s mood, the following day dawned to a greeting of thick cloud smothering the sun. The citizen’s of Camelot woke to the city bathed in differing hues of grey and it was not uncommon to see folk hurry about their work armed with a snub of a candle. Even the castle was affected; with the only colour the bright Yuletide decorations which it had been dressed in the days before. Already, Merlin heard rumours that more candles were to be ordered and decorations made, with the allusion that leftover bits and bobs gifted to the denizens below to brighten their day.

As he walked through the corridor, the Warlock’s head was thick with the lack of sleep from plotting. To an outsider, it could be deemed strange that he took such an interest in Arthur and Gwen’s relationship, even with the defence of the union affecting the kingdom. Many an enquiring mind not directly connected with either of them would wonder why he had vested so much interest in it. If both parties did not consent to his meddling, then surely he should take their wishes into account? His answer, of course, was that they were his friends.

And yet -

“What do ya want, hmm?” 

Head Chef Mary poked the manservant with her ladle, jolting him out of his thoughts. He had been so deep in thought that he had made it to the castle kitchens quite unaware. Here, in the extensive kitchens unearth the citadel, Mary had made a kingdom for herself, which she ruled over with her iron ladle. To the untrained eye, the realm was carnage: shouts and clatter of pots and pans lugged over the stone flagons assaulted the eardrum, accompanied by frenzied movement as scullery maids and porters dashed in and out of the richly scented steam. Known for her short temper at the best of times, with only a fortnight to go until the Yuletide feast word had quickly spread through the castle that the kitchens were to be entered only on pain of death. 

Shoving down the persistent twinge of fear which occurred every time he interacted with the chef, Merlin yelled over the cacophony, “Food for the King.”

Mary quirked an eyebrow. “Shall there be enough for two?”

Merlin blinked, momentarily flummoxed. Though the two had tried to keep their relationship secret, it was no surprise that the Head Chef knew about the King’s courtship of Gwen. Servants were a hive of salacious secrets and scandalous gossip, the centre of which was the kitchens. If anything it was surprisingly that she didn’t know the latest developments. 

His thoughts must have shown on his face, for in a tone which could almost be considered worried, Mary enquired: “Is everything well with the King and his associate?”

Taking his time to reply, Merlin surveyed the kitchen. Curiously, Mary had allowed it to be dressed in Yuletide finery. Typically, she kept her realm clear from the ‘frivolous festival fittings’, claiming that a celebration was marked by the food, and not the decorations. That, she asserted, was a superficial segment which could be enacted upon at home. Gaudy paper streamers were strung along the walls, carefully hung so that they were far away from fires or steaming pans. A wig of holly hung limply in the centre of the room with the berries swaying slightly in the fumes. Unusually, towards the other end of the kitchen a clump of mistletoe could be seen, green leaves shining brightly even through the haze. Underneath it huddled a small group of kitchen servants, chattering excitedly about the occupants encircled.

“Arthur broke courtship two days eve.”

Disappointment flashed across the cook’s face followed briefly by barely controlled anger before resignation smoothed the way. There was a great deal of hidden support for the match: disregarding the fact that they were  _ plainly  _ in love, the possibility of a mere servant becoming Queen signified that change for the better would be met in the future. Or at least, it was.

"I see." She said quietly, raising a hand to indicate to a servant out of sight. "Who forced him into the decision?"

Merlin blinked at the astuteness of the statement, replying, “A  _ certain _ Royal Advisor. I spoke to her earlier and she was heartbroken, but when I spoke to the King, he wouldn't admit the wrong he had committed."

" _ Lord  _ Agravaine, though he don't deserve the title." She said with obvious distain and resentment towards the man. Usually Mary was respectful of all Court members if she mentioned their names... until they came into her kitchen, that is.

"The slimeball himself.”

“Poor Gwen... she would’ve made such a good Queen. A fair and just ruler who would have shown kindness to all, no matter what their station.” Ma

She sighed unhappily, but before either of them could comment more of the matter, a loud whoop sounded behind her. Immediately, she whirled around, hoisting her ladle high. It seemed that it had come from the ever-growing crowd which could just be made out at the back of the chamber and coming to the same conclusion, Mary quickly stormed off. Of course, Merlin followed. 

Weaving in-between the various cooking stations, the Head Chef’s light footsteps belayed her bulk and gave no warning to her victims. Excited chatter and whoops grew in frequency as they neared the gathering, puncturing the murmuring concoctions which hissed as ingredients were tossed in. Arriving behind the group, Merlin took a step back when he aw Mary breathe in deeply.

“WHAT ARE YOU ALL DILLY DALLYING ABOUT FOR? WE HAVE A FEAST TO PREPARE!”

All on the receiving end of her wrath flinched. One kitchen maid screamed, grabbing the sleeve of the porter standing next to her in a death grip. Rapid dispersal followed, giving their mistress’s ladle a wide berth as they hurried back to their stations. All apart from two, who remained inappropriately entwined with one another under the mistletoe. Though the steam was thick here - curiously so considering there was no cooking at this end, only store cupboards - effectively shrouding the pair from view, they eventually came into focus. 

Percival and scullery maid Biodyngwyn were too engrossed acquainting themselves with each other’s tonsils to notice their new audience. Seconds passed, and Merlin’s eyebrows rose at the affectionate display. Unlike his brother-in-arms Gwaine, Percival was reticent in his interest in women. In the years Merlin had known him, he had never once mentioned a desire for a beloved, let alone the fact that one had clearly caught his eye. Similarly, Biodyngwyn was a kind, if timid girl, who the manservant had quietly marvelled at choosing to work in such a high pressure environment. Indeed, they were never people he would peg as exhibitionists. It was almost as if - 

Mary coughed next to him, startling Merlin out of his thoughts. Automatically, he turned to face her, and was greeted with an amused expression. It was so out of character he lost his trail of thought, it compelled him to speak so.

“I thought knights were banned?”

“They are,” She said with satisfaction, leaning in. “But I’ve made a wager on these two. It’s clear they’ve been pining for one another for nigh on two years now. I’m glad they finally made it official.”

She winked and laughed at his shocked face. By way of explanation, she said innocently, “It was interrupting Biodyn’s performance."

Merlin remained unconvinced.

The Head Cook, however, had more pressing issues. The good will she had shown had finally run out as she continued to be ignored. She cleared her throat again, but unsurprisingly they didn’t respond. Indeed, Merlin was beginning to wonder how they were still going, as neither had come up to breathe for several minutes now. Beside him, Mary readied her ladle. Hastily, Merlin stepped forward with a smile and a quip on his lips.

“Show’s over!” He announced cheerfully, patting them both on the back.

No response.

Frowning, Merlin waved a hand in front of Percival’s face. Nothing. That wasn’t exactly surprising - both of their eyes were closed - but years of honed instincts meant that the gentle knight had faster reflexes than most. Brilliant white steam swirled around the duo frozen in chaste embrace. With their bodies entwined, the gold flecked haze made their outlines shimmer and merge as if they were carved out of a single block of marble, inextricably linked.

Ever watchful worry reared itself, whispering to Merlin that  _ something wasn’t right _ . Occupied as he may be, Percival would never willingly ignore someone - he was too polite. Concern now dictating his actions, he gently grasped Biodyn by the shoulders and pulled her back. But she didn’t budge. Again he tried, this time putting more muscle into it. Once more, he failed. He didn’t even bother attempting the same maneuver with Percival: the giant was steadfast at the best of times. Instead, hiding his eyes from view of the ever watchful Mary - though he doubted it would have made any difference with steam invading every modicum of space - he called upon his magic and  _ pulled. _

It had spectacular results. Immediately the love birds separated, with poor Biodyn’s flight only prevented by Merlin keeping a firm grasp on her. Percival had no such luck however, and a loud clang was swiftly succeeded with a muted groan. Turning around, the receding steam revealed the aftermath of Mary’s ladle hitting Percival’s armour, the impact no doubt leaving a large indent in the metal.

"Might have overdone it a bit," Mary said in amusement to nobody in particular.

Percival scrambled hastily to his feet. He promptly orientated himself towards Biodyn, who quickly detached herself from Merlin’s grip by stepping coincidentally closer to the gentle giant. Blushing all the while, she said quietly, “I’m sorry, Cook. I got a bit carried away.”

“A bit?” Merlin exclaimed.

She blushed again, the two studiously avoiding looking anybody in the eye. Appearing so perfectly contrite as they were, the Head Cook unexpectedly took pity on them. Or rather, her never-before-seen romantic side did.

"Run along now, Biodyngwyn. Your magnificent sponge awaits you."

In compliance, the girl quickly kissed Percival on the cheek, nodded to Merlin whilst still blushing and ran off into the depths, presumably to make up the mixture. The knight watched her go almost wistfully, not so artfully hiding the faint pink which tinged his cheeks. Turning back, he found the realm’s leader staring at him, hands and ladel on her hips.

“Sir Percival, I want you  _ out  _ of my kitchen, and I want you out  _ now _ .” 

Percival nodded meekly and turned to go.

“Percival. Wait for me, will you? I need to take Princess his food and it’ll be helpful to have somebody clear the way."

Rolling his eyes at the nickname, the knight nodded before moving off to stand at the exit. Next to Merlin, Mary clucked her tongue as she lead the him to the prat’s food, which had no doubt had finished preparations.

“Be careful,” She warned. “The knights will be more of a hindrance than a help.”

“Some more than others,” Merlin muttered as another knight flitted across his mind.

Mary frowned in consternation. Knowing now how invested she was in Arthur and Gwen’s affairs, it was clear she knew whom he spoke of. Though Merlin felt guilt at deliberately excluding the only other person in Camelot apart from Gaius who knew of his magic, his decision had been made. Despite his kingdom wide accolade as the most noble of the knights - a subject which both irked and pleased Arthur - these were matters that even the most valiant failed to conquer.

Merlin  _ couldn’t  _ include Lancelot. 

A flurry of activity descended upon the two, distracting him from his unpleasant thoughts. As she brought her hand back down, Mary carefully vetted each foodstuff that was brought to her attention before allowing it to be set on the rapidly approaching table. The tray that Merlin had been armed with entering the kitchens creaked as it received its cargo, a delicious assortment of goodies creating a magnificent breakfast concoction. Once perfection had been achieved, the manservant obediently held out his arms, where the tray was carefully deposited shortly afterwards.

The Head Cook accompanied Merlin to the exist where Percival was waiting, who immediately stepped forward to relieve her burden. Jug of wine carefully cradled, the knight cheerfully held the door open with one large hand and indicated for Merlin to go first. He did so willing, eager to finish the long journey to Arthur’s quarters. Goddess, the tray was heavy, and it would be a miracle if he didn’t drop it.

Sensing his thoughts, Mary said sharply, “You better not spill that over the floor  _ again _ Merlin, or I’ll have your guts for garters. As for you, Percival. Whilst I’m glad you finally plucked up the courage to court Biodyngwyn, you are still banned from my kitchen.”

With that, she retreated back to her domain, already shouting at the porter for knocking a crate of cabbages.

* * *

“When were you going to let the rest of us know about Biodyn?”

Percival blushed. Normally a quiet man, it was amusing to see how tongue-tied he became when his beau became the topic of conversation.

“I wasn’t planning on saying anything,”

“You never do -”

“- Let alone… it just...  _ happened _ .”

“If that’s your excuse, Gwaine’s never going to let you live it down.”

He sighed, the sound so mournful of his impending doom that the manservant took pity on him.

“Relax, you’ll be let off easy compared to Arthur. Has Elyan told you?”

Merlin could hear Percival’s frown. “No.”

“He broke their courtship.  _ Apparently _ , their relationship wasn't appropriate." 

Merlin let the knight digest the information, knowing that he had parsed the meaning in his words and was methodically eliminating possible culprits. Eventually, Percival said, “I wondered where the dummies went...”

* * *

"At last." The prat said as Percival opened the door to let the manservant slip in, "I was beginning to think you were lost."

Merlin didn't bother to respond, still angry about Gwen. Arthur frowned at the lack of retort. Yet by the time Merlin had collected the wine with a hasty thanks to Percival, his annoyance seemed forgotten in the face of his hunger. Bread was torn into chunks and dipped into the freshly broken yolk, before being tossed up into the king’s mouth. Tipping his head back, copious amounts of watered wine washed down the affair.

Deciding to be proactive in his chores for once, Merlin took the opportunity to magically clean the pillows as he plumped them, in addition to refreshing the bedcovers. After that, he threw all dirty linen into a pile which was rapidly forming by the door. Ducking underneath the bed with eyes glowing to reach for the stray clothes, he was just about to gingerly grasp the undergarments Arthur had worn the day before - goddess, his eyes were watering from the stench - when Arthur exclaimed loudly. Automatically Merlin jerked up. Thumping his head on the bedframe, he swore loudly as he extracted himself.

“This has better be worth it, prat.”

An irate Arthur, half swivelled in his chair to face him, glared back.

“I  _ told  _ you I didn’t want decorations in here!”

Merlin stared back flummoxed.

"Well?"

Arthur began to tap his hand on the table, a sure sign he was getting anger. Idly, Merlin wondered if perhaps he should retreat back under the bed in preparation for the onslaught to follow.

“What decorations?  _ I  _ didn’t place anything here. I think I’d have noticed if people were parading back and forth with streamers all day! Besides,  _ somebody  _ would have had to clean up, and as you are clearly such an incompetent dunderhead -”

“There is a piece of mistletoe hanging above my chair which  _ you  _ were in charge of collecting.”

Glancing up to where Arthur was jabbing with a fork, Merlin pinched himself.

For hanging above the King's chair was a piece of mistletoe. A cluster of luminous berries encased in vivid leaves which seemed to refract light itself.

_ His  _ mistletoe.

"One of the knights probably snuck it in. I didn’t do it!”

Arthur snorted. “My knights are many things, but they aren’t stealthy. You and I have been the only people in my chambers for two days now, and it definitely was  _ not  _ me."

Merlin blinked. “Did you just give me a compliment?”

Arthur growled.

“Aww, I’m flattered. Does this mean I’m exempt from training sessions?”

“ _ Mer _ lin.” It was the King who spoke now, and his tone brokered no argument.

“Come  _ on  _ Arthur. It’s a harmless piece of mistletoe!”

Suddenly, Arthur changed tack. He smiled, but it wasn’t one of his genuine ones. Instead, it was the type which adorned his face when he had an extra special chore for Merlin. “I know I’m handsome, but  _ really.” _

“You also forgot supercilious, superficial, egotistical -”

Arthur threw a goblet at his head, but the manservant continued, undeterred.

“- arrogant, disdainful, condescending, snotty dunderhead of a clotpole.”

The manservant finished with a flourish, throwing the goblet back at Arthur who caught it lightning quick. Setting it down on the table, Arthur said smugly,

“Then you have no objections in taking the mistletoe down then, do you?”

Merlin scowled, but admitted defeat. It was a stupid place to hang the plant anyway - Gwen rarely visited Arthur in his chambers as propriety would never allow it. The only ones who spent any amount of time here would be Arthur, Merlin, and perhaps Agravaine, though his visits too were usually confined to more public places. Hs nose wrinkled as the disgusting image of a puckered Agravaine entered his mind.

Standing up on the drawn chair, Merlin reach out to grab the plant. 

"Ouch!" 

"Oh don't be such a girl,  _ Mer _ lin." Arthur said, rolling his eyes as Merlin cradled his arm.

"It shocked me."

" _ Really _ ," The King said sarcastically, "Maybe  _ I _ should take it down then, if you don’t want to."

Thankfully, although with some annoyance, Merlin stepped off the chair, still cradling his arm. Pins and needles had begun to set in, the jabbing pinprick sensation at the stage where each movement sent shockwaves of phantom pain through the body. Arthur took his place. Reaching up to grab the mistletoe, the King tugged and twisted and pulled at it, but it didn’t budge. Whoever had attached it to the ceiling clearly knew what they were doing.

“Look who’s the girl’s petticoats now,” The manservant taunted. “Can’t even defeat a simple  _ plant.” _

With begrudging amazement, Arthur said "You managed to attach it to the ceiling quite well." Noticing Merlin preening at the misdirected compliment, he added hastily, "but I’ll still get it off." 

Arthur gave it a massive tug... and promptly overbalanced and fell. Instinctively, Merlin flexed his arms, pins and needles forgotten, as he called magic to his fingertips to halt the rapid descent. Luckily however, Arthur caught his balance and landing on his feet next to Merlin. He smirked at the Warlock at the impressive accomplishment and held his arms out, clearly expecting praise.

Instead, pain flared up again, stronger this time. " _ Ow _ !"

Merlin stumbled backwards towards the door, half overcome with shock. But just as suddenly as it arrived, it dissipated, causing him to sigh with relief.

"Merlin?" The King asked, concern evident in his voice. "What's the matter  _ now _ ?"

"You  _ hit _ me as you went down." Merlin accused, standing well away from his attacker.

"Oh." The King cocked his head slightly to the side, before walking towards the table, where the tray of food that Merlin had carried in earlier awaited. "Stop acting like a sissy.”

He turned around, armed with the goblet filled with wine. “Drink.”

Again, the mysterious pain made a violent reappearance, causing the Warlock to double up. Hovering above him, Arthur said, half tentatively, half marvelling at himself, “I really did a corker on you. You better go and visit Gaius.”

"I never knew you cared," Merlin gasped, hurriedly making his way to the exit.

He had never felt like this before. With the bouts so sudden and Arthur unafflicted, could it be possible that this was some sort of magical affliction? He needed to see Gaius.

“And Merlin,” Arthur called as he reached the door. “I still expect you to wash my clothes, clean my armour, clean the stables -”

His speech was cut off as Merlin slammed the door behind him. As he did so, the agonising stint ended, leaving his limbs light and the curious feeling of walking on air. Relieved, he slumped against the door, relishing the coolness of the wood against his brow.

Seeing his friend’s pale and slightly sweaty face, Percival said, "Arthur being a pain?"

"Something like that.”

Satisfied with his explanation, Percival stood up and began to lope down the corridor, leaving Merlin alone until sighing, he heaved himself upright to follow. Though the pain had ceased, something else was niggling at the Warlock.

If Arthur hadn't put up the mistletoe, and if no one else had been inside the room, how did one of his enchanted mistletoes become attached to the ceiling  _ directly  _ above the King?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting fact: Blanchefleur is the only love interest Percival has in the Arthurian myths. The rest of the time, he is either described as virginal or he has been replaced by Galahad (the fiend)! Here, I have used the Welsh form Biodyngwyn (pronounced bye-oh-din-gwin) due to the show and the myth's setting in Wales. It can be translated as ‘white flower’.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologise for the late chapter. Unfortunately, the importance of Hogmanay and the subsequent monthly courses are not an aid in writing. Rest assured, this story shall continue, even if it shall no longer be the festive period. After all, what's stopping us from celebrating, if we're all back in lockdown?!

**The Curious Case of the Magic Mistletoe**

**Chapter Four – Niwl**

Two days passed in a blur of mopping, scrubbing and trudging around after an increasingly forlorn - and thus ill-tempered - king. Though the manservant could not begrudge the castle steward’s desire to achieve perfection after news of the broken courtship spread through the citadel, he most certainly could for Arthur. The prat had churned out one chore after another, taking vicious satisfaction in watching Merlin suffer. It was the only satisfaction he could glean. Thus Merlin’s current predicament: serving drinks at the Yuletide council meeting.

Already, there were a number of issues.

Council sessions were always a bore to sit through. Merlin knew this. Arthur  _ also  _ knew this, and ordered his manservant to pretend, knowing that Merlin would make his disdain for the meeting expressionately clear. Glares across the chamber, naps on the stone column and tongue holding at impudent lords always led to a vocal outburst as soon as the meetings - which was precisely why the supercilious idiot enjoyed it so. 

Unbeknownst to Arthur, Merlin had games of his own to play. Pre-session, he would make a bet with Gaius on the number of times magic would be brought up. Bonus points were awarded if a rousing anti-magic induced rant occurred or if there were talks of a second Purge. Already, Lord Farquaad had disdain curling at his lips as he spoke of rumours of a sorcerer in the east and the meeting had not even started yet. 

Thankfully, the small talk between members was the only thing saving Merlin from the largest problem yet: mistletoe.

During the festive dressing of the council chamber, some idiot had decided to adorn the ceiling above the King’s throne with mistletoe. Fates, it was no mistake: whoever had done it had chosen one of the largest branches deliberately, perhaps despite, or  _ in  _ spite, of the news of the King’s broken courtship. A measly sprig wouldn’t do: they  _ had  _ to hang practically a whole plant complete with succulent leaves and luminous berries. Arthur was going to have his head when he noticed - and he would notice.

“Geoffrey,” Merlin smiled in greeting as the man stopped before him.

“Merlin. I do hope the books that you borrowed will be returned soon.” 

“They will. I know what the herbs Gaius needed me to forage look like now. I’ll return them when I have time.”

“From what Gaius tells me,” the librarian remarked, “you have plenty of time to spare. You can delay your night at the tavern to return them.”

Shellshocked, Merlin merely stood gaping as Geoffrey of Monmouth sauntered past him to take his seat at the table.

“Close your mouth boy, or you’ll catch flies.”

Merlin reached out and grabbed Gaius’ wrist, stopping the physician in his tracks.

“You told Geoffrey I go to the  _ tavern?”  _ The Warlock hissed.

Gauis merely raised an eyebrow. “Well he can’t know what you  _ really _ do, can he?” 

“But still, the  _ tavern?”  _ Merlin pressed on. “Gwaine, yes _.  _ Me,  _ no!” _

“This was the cover we agreed on-“

“ _ You _ agreed on -” 

Gauis heaved a sigh, a glint of poorly hidden amusement clear in his eye. “We’ll discuss this later _.” _

“Too right we will,” Merlin grumbled.

He watched as his mentor took his seat next to Geoffrey and leant towards his friend. He spoke, and then the librarian’s shoulder shook, tremors gaining in intensity. The condition spread to Gauis, both suffering from tremors. Though Gauis’ hair blocked his view, Merlin had the sneaking suspicion that both of them were laughing at him.

Then the meeting started and Merlin lost himself to boredom.

Time crawled. Discussions on a variety of topics quietly raged on. Magic reared its head thrice, but was quickly shut down and replaced with safer subjects. It was at one such time that trade regulations on wheat took prominence and managed to rule talk for well over an hour. Finally, Arthur succeeded in achieving peace and one by one, the pre-drawn legislation accumulated signatures. 

Throughout, Merlin battled drowsiness as sleep pulled at his lashes. Yet as another nameless lord approached the King to sign the bill, the hairs on the back of his neck slowly began to rise. Immediately, sleep deserted him. Pushing himself off the pillar, he scoured his surroundings for signs of danger. 

Nothing. 

The lords were lax at the table, idle in their attempts to gain power. The robin continued to chip loudly outside amid the clatter of horses in the courtyard. Chatter echoed in the citadels, muted as the servants approached the council rooms. And yet -

"Ouch!" 

The approaching Lord exclaimed loudly as he stared down at his hand in disbelief. Stepping forward, Merlin frowned at the lack of apparent injury, casting another gaze around the room. Still, there was nothing out of the ordinary. 

Seemingly arriving at the same conclusion, Arthur asked as he flexed his writing hand, “Are you well Lord Harold?”

"Just a little shock, My Lord." 

Merlin started, wine sopping over the jug edge to wet his clothes. Arthur hesitated, but quickly regained his footing and extended the feather quill once again to the Lord.

“Sign here please.”

Lord Harold merely hissed in response, bringing his outstretched hand back to his body to cradle it. He hunched slightly, his once impeccably posture marred by a stoop to his shoulders.

“Lord Harold, are you quite sure you are feeling well?” The King inquired with a grimace, setting the quill down on the table before striding forward.

"Stop it!" The Lord wailed in pain. Instinctively, he retreated away from the table, doubling over as the pain in his belly intensified. Already, Gauis had risen from his place, asking Merlin to attend him with a worried glance. Concern marked his actions as he made his way over, eyes flickering around the room to search for the cause.

Once a sham. Twice a charm. Thrice, a curse. It was no coincidence that it always occurred around Arthur.

Magic was afoot. Somebody was out to curse a king.

Lord Harold obeyed the physician’s instructions on breathing, pressing his hands on his thighs to brace himself. Bending over the man under the guise of taking his pulse, the Warlock’s eyes flashed gold. A moment later he rose, and said to Gauis, “He’s white.”

His mentor nodded, acknowledging the unspoken message that the Lord was free from magical influence. His eyebrow rose as he assessed the possibilities.

“Describe the pain, my lord.”

“It flared in my hand when I moved closer to sign the agreement into law. It’s now spread upwards and gone deep into my stomach.”

Pain was etched into his features as he spoke, and great gasps punctuated his short statement.

“Describe the intensity, my lord.”

Above the lord, Gauze motioned for Arthur to move. The King frowned, and remained where he stood. Rolling his eyes, Merlin scoffed and strode forward not stopping as he grasped Arthur’s jacket, causing the King to splutter as he was towed behind.

“B-better.” He straightened up and there was an audible click as he rotated his shoulders. “It’s gone now!”

“Indeed.”

Gauis frowned. Next to the manservant, Arthur swallowed the indignant cry on his lips as his lumbering brain finally caught up to the proceedings. Before the dollophead could act on his dawning realisation however, a low hum filled the air. Instinctively, Merlin dragged Arthur behind him, the violent action almost throwing the King to his knees. A wave of magic roared over them as a bright light snapped on at the epicenter. Blinding the occupants of the room, chairs toppled as the lords reared back in fright, crying out when the air itself began to fizzle. Then the light receded, leaving on the table a bouncing and quite energetic -

“Child. You’re a  _ child?”  _ Merlin found himself saying aloud. Shock clouded his features as his initial assessment was confirmed.

It was indeed a child who was the source of the powerful magic. The boy had unnaturally creamy skin with nary a blemish to be seen - highly unusual for one so young. In contrast, his hair was thick and so dark it appeared green in the light, the impression aided by the knot of leaves entangled in the unruly mess. Undoubtedly, a bird would feel at home on top of such a perch. Underneath the vines was a baby’s chubby face, where a plump nose accompanied colourless eyes and a sage tinged mouth. As a leaf flicked down over one eye, with a start Merlin realised that what he had first assumed was a plant caught in the boy’s hair was actually sprouting _ out of his head _ . On closer inspection, tangled vines and leaves made up the unruly mess, with twilight highlights appearing occasionally as it shuddered and writhed.

"Guards! Attack! Sorcerers are attacking the citadel!" 

One of the lord's suddenly shouted, jolting his fellow occupants back into action. A commotion sounded at the door, and after a few moments of shouting and cursing, the armed men outside came bumbling in, followed by Sirs Leon and Percival.

“Where is the intruder?” Leon shouted immediately.

The lord pointed at the boy. "There!" 

Astonishingly, the child in question was unperturbed by their imminent arrest and, if the lord would have his way, execution. Instead, he stared intently at Merlin. The eerily pale eyes drilled into the Warlock, not even blinking when Leon said incredulously "Him? I can’t arrest him. He’s a  _ child _ !"

"He has magic!" The Lord protested, as if that explained everything. Gauis snorted.

"Silence!" Arthur commanded, glaring at his fellow council members into submission. He turned to the intruder.. "What is your name?"

"Niwl." The boy promptly replied. Unexpectedly, his voice was deep, the swelling bass impossible to achieve in such a small body.

“I am Arthur Pendragon -"

"The Once and Future King."

Arthur frowned at the moniker. "If you know who I am, then surely you know that it was foolhardy to come here. Sorcery is outlawed in my kingdom -”

“- punishable by death. I know. I realise my presence here is.... most unwelcomed."

"Guards! Arrest him!" The loud noble cried as he pointed to the culprit, unwittingly assauging Niwl’s assessment.

It was with guilty surprise that Merlin watched Leon merely stand there, looking to his King for further instructions. Percival, he expected the lack of action, but Leon? It was not that he did not like the man - indeed, the manservant would list the knight as his friend - but he had trained and served under Arthur’s predecessor. Those that did so often held the same beliefs on magic and it’s dark purposes, and would not hesitate to kill the child where he stood.

Arthur held up a hand. “Let us not be too hasty. Why are you here, Niwl?”

"I am here in an act of goodwill to you and the city." 

"Goodwill? You sorcerers no  _ nothing _ of kindness!" 

Arthur shot a glare at the seated council member, different from the previous noble, who subsided with immediate reluctance.

“What goodwill do you speak of?" 

Niwl spread his arms out in a display of grandeur. “You are celebrating Yuletide, the festival of love and joy. As a Yuletide fit, my master has seen fit to grant the inhabitants of Camelot the greatest gift of all: love.”

Percival raised his eyebrows, his posture relaxing. In contrast, Arthur grimaced, and crossed his arms. The closed body language reflected his feelings well on the matter of love spells: he still refused to speak about Lady Elena, his embarrassment causing him to lash out in anger.

"You cannot create love." Gaius interjected as muttering began amongst the people present. "You can only mimic it. You’re lying."

"You have been taught wisely." The boy nodded respectfully. "But you mistake me. We do not create love, merely… draw upon it. Match it.”

Merlin froze. 

“I’m afraid I still do not understand.”

“Then pray, let me explain. There are two halves to every whole. Two lost, to be found. Two souls… for a heart. You call them soulmates. It is an apt description. I am merely binding one half soul to another. I will make you... complete. "

"How is it possible?" Arthur interceded in the frigid calm silence that followed before a storm.

Niwl smiled. “Magic.”

As predicted, there was uproar. Clamours for the boy to be captured and killed shook the chambers. Guards dithered about, only held in the place by the stern gaze of Percival and Leon, who had their hands on the pummels. The uneasiness of the King intensified, a furrow appearing on his brow.

“Arthur,” Merlin murmured, “maybe we should hear him out.”

In an unspoken signal, Niwl elaborated on the process. Even though he did not raise his voice, he was still audible above the council’s rejections, who seemed almost muted in response.

“The couple must share a kiss when magic is present for the binding to be complete. They cannot be compelled, forced, or subjected. The kiss shared must be willing. Yet there is a simple solution my master arrived at: mistletoe. A plant with the romantic tradition of couples canoodling beneath its branches. It is the remnant of an ancient ritual which matched soulmates together.”

Huh. It made sense that there was an Old Religion element to the ritual. Most traditions dated back to the stem of magic in some way or other, even one as outlandish as romantic displays. Arthur however, did not find this fascinating. Though the tension in his shoulder’s had eased slightly when Niwl said that coercion would not lead to souls binding to one another, he stil remained caution in his enquiries.

"This enchantment would not harm anybody?" 

The boy hesitated. 

“It does,” Arthur said flatly. “I see.”

“No,” Niwl corrected defiantly, staring up at the King “You don’t.”

"Only one thing can permanently hurt a chosen: the excruciating pain of a soul mate rejecting them.”

“And temporarily?” Gauis asked drily.

Niwl’s eyes flickered from Arthur, to Merlin, and back to the King.

“My master’s enchantment was slightly… enthusiastic. As a result, the mistletoe can actually  _ move _ from place to place. You let out a signal if you will, which the mistletoe receives, reads, and determines whether you have found and are with your true love. Then, they lynch on to you."

Seeing their horrified faces, Niwl let out a laugh and hurriedly backtracked. 

"I mean, not  _ physically  _ and it certainly doesn't hurt. Rather when you move, they move with you, always following you, always above you. And once they have Chosen, nothing can stop them until the binding is complete."

Merlin blinked as the pieces began to slot into place. The strange occurences of the past few days seen in context could explain -

"It cannot be painless  _ and  _ hurtful,” Gauis pointed out.

"Once they have chosen, they will not let go until the deed is done. But it can be days until the Chosen has shared an embrace. Throughout, the Chosen is monitored closely. Unfortunately, the enchantment is a bit, ah, protective of their charge. Those who pose a threat the union are suitably discouraged. The closer and longer you are closer to them, the more the pain will intensify. I believe some of you have already felt symptoms.”

Flashing one more glance at Merlin, Niwl turned to the noble who had been stuck by phantom pains.

“Lord Harold of Blaenau, you have been Chosen. Even though you have achieved union, you have not achieved bliss.”

Flummoxed, Merlin frowned. But all the signs had suggested that  _ Arthur  _ had been Chosen. The mistletoe in his chambers, the pain at close contact which intensified in line with exposure. 

"I have?” Lord Harold breathed with a glimmer of what could possibly be described as hope in his voice.

Niwl smiled sadly. “You have,” he confirmed, “Talk with your wife, my lord.”

Lord Harold nodded hastily. “I- I thank you.”

Niwl blinked. “It is my master who has ensured your happiness, not I. His overzealousness caused the symptoms you experienced earlier. The enchantment accidently filed you as a threat.”

"It's no problem." The Lord answered with a shy smile. "I understand it wasn't supposed to happen."

"Thank you." Niwl redirected his attention the Arthur. “If you wish to speak to one who has already achieved the Binding, then you may do so. Sir Percival, if you may.”

The gentle giant stepped forward, ill at ease with the sudden scrutiny he faced.

Arthur stared at him. “You don’t seem surprised Percival. I thought you had no beau?”

Percival shrugged. “I’m not. It makes sense.”

“When you were in the kitchens,” Merlin said, the words bursting out of him, “Mary and I couldn’t tear you two apart.”

Arthur swivelled to his manservant. “You  _ knew  _ about this and didn’t tell me!”

Merlin glared back at him. “Serves you right for being such a prat.”

“The enchantment my master cast varies its performance according to the moods and the length of separation of the binding. If their love is of significance, of their time has been spent far apart, then in ensured that they will not be disturbed as the binding is strengthened. There are no ill effects.”

Percival quirked a smile. “Indeed there are not.”

Cutting across a remark which no doubt would have been rambunctious, Niwl continued smoothly,

“Do you accept my Master's gift of eternal happiness?"

A tension filled second ticked past. Then another. And another.

“On one condition.”

“Name it,” Niwl said cautiously, “and I will see what can be done.”

“I am not Chosen.”

The effect was immediate: Niwl swelled up, his eyes burning with anger, his red hanging earrings swinging madly at the action.

“We will reunite souls.  _ That _ is our task. There is a chance that you may not be Chosen as there are few of us, and many of you. There is no method in our Choosing. Some are love stories that will span across the ages, inspiring those who wish to find a love like yours. Others are stories that simply bring happiness to one. If you are already with your soul mate, then you will not be affected.” 

Arthur hesitated. “I accept your gift. In return, you and your master have a royal pardon."

The mutterings of the council began then, people arguing over whether what the King had done was right. Merlin watched as Niwl smiled as the bright white gold once again lit up the whole room. There was a blinding flash. When Merlin looked back, there was no-one there, only a mistletoe plant shimmering lightly over Arthur's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niwl is Welsh for 'mist'. I chose not to use the literal translation of mistletoe as I fount it rather a mouthful - camddehonglu!


	5. Chapter 5

**Merlin's POV**

As the Yuletide Banquet drew closer, Merlin was rushed off his feet. Helping the preparations that needed to be completed by Yuletide, assisting Gaius with the influx of patients who had colds or other illnesses now that winter had settled in addition to serving his Idiot King who  _ still  _ refused to see that Guinevere was his soul mate. Meal times were myths from a bygone age of peace: it was a miracle he found time to sleep, let alone eat. The Head Cook had quickly cottoned on to the heightened activity, and kitchen staff rotated walking through through the castle to provide much relished nourishment for their fellow servants. 

Worst of all, Arthur refused to admit that he was Chosen.

Ironically, his mistletoe was the only thing keeping the Warlock sane. The original reaction to the plants was muted compared to this. As soon as Arthur made an announcement regarding the ‘gift’ Merlin had unintentionally offered to Camelot, rumours ran rampant. Already, one wall of the kitchen mapped out the location of mistletoe, with servants avoiding or exploring the corridors as they saw fit. It was the word on everybody’s lips, the sole topic of conversation.

“It’s going to be an  _ epic _ banquet,” Tomos commented, sitting opposite the Manservant with a heap of goblets beside him. “I mean, think about it. With all of this mistletoe business, imagine how many people are going to be bonded?”

Niamh shook her head, though whether it was in response to Tomos or Merlin’s polishing was unclear. She held out her hand, and reluctantly Merlin handed over the goblet to her, a sheepish grin adorning his face. “I’m not too sure. Magic is involved. You can never be sure what will happen or what exactly is planned when magic’s involved.”

“Who knows. Maybe the Mistletoe doesn’t bond ‘soul mates’ together, but random people. This could all be a distraction sent from the  _ Witch _ .”

Next to Merlin, Samuel rolled his eyes at Edward’s theatrics. “Highly unlikely. Maybe if Morgana had stayed as loving and caring as she used to be. But now she’s a sadistic, evil bi-”

“Witches only deal with curses, not blessings.” Tomos pointed out. “I reckon it’s that Dragoon guy. He has a sense of humour; if anybody would attack Camelot by ensnaring people with mistletoe, it would be him.”

Angharad scoffed. “Come on! This  _ clearly  _ has a  _ woman’s _ touch to it, and a good woman too. She’s simply trying to achieve what the King announced; to spread peace and love this Yuletide. This enchantment is delicate, and she’s taken all of the factors into account. Everybody knows that  _ men _ cannot multitask.”

“I beg to differ.”

In answer, Angharad leant back and quirked her eyebrow. Accepting the challenge, Merlin tossed the goblet he was washing into the air where it was rapidly joined by two more in quick succession. He juggled for a few seconds, settling into the rhythm and motion. Then, making eye contact with Angharad the entire time, he unbuttoned his jacket. Shrugging it off one shoulder, he slowly wiggled out of the leather as he kept the balls in the air with only one hand. Tomos wolf whistled at the show amidst Niamh’s giggles. As the jacket fell gracefully to the floor, the Warlock tossed the goblets up one final time as he took a bow, before catching them neatly.

“Only  _ you _ ,” Angharad emphasised, giving the Manservant a saucy wink, “Only you.”

Samuel gasped. “Is this the mistletoe working before me? Is it possible that Angharad and Merlin are  _ soul mates?” _

“Let’s see, shall we?” Merlin grinned, reaching over to poke him in the shoulder. “Feel the shock?”

“Nope.”

“Does the ‘shock’ exist then?” Niamh said curiously. “Thought it was made up.”

“Naw. I feel it when I touch Angharad. That  _ spark  _ of attraction.” Tomos leaned in towards the brunette, setting down his goblet. “You can’t ignore the chemistry between us.”

“Mmm,” Angharad replied, staring dreamily into Tomos’ eyes, lashes fluttering at his approach. “But I  _ can’t  _ ignore that cheese smell. I’m allergic to dairy, remember?”

Tomos mock scowled at the ensuring laughter. Suddenly, he stilled before turning to the manservant with wide eyes. “Wait - when did  _ you  _ feel the shock? This is the first time you’ve left the King’s side.”

“It is,” Merlin agreed.

The penny dropped.

“So it’s true?” Samuel said disbelievingly.. “The King has been  _ Chosen _ ?”

The others waited anxiously for the manservant to speak. Merlin picked up one of the goblets and began to clean it slowly, delaying his answer mischievously.

“Oh  _ come on _ Merlin!” Angharad demanded, swatting at the Warlock with her cleaning cloth, “spill the beans!”

He gave an exaggerated sigh.

“It’s true.”

Niamh put a hand to her mouth. “The King has been Chosen! But  _ who’s  _ his soul mate?”

Tomos stared incredulously at her. “Come on, it’s  _ obvious _ ! It’s Guinevere.”

“Oh, that would be  _ wonderful,”  _ Niamh swooned at the idea. “They truly are the perfect match.”

“Hang on. I thought that when the offer came, the King agreed that the mistletoe would be allowed only on the condition that he _isn’t_ Chosen?”

“Well...” The Warlock tailed off, “The Prat  _ did  _ say that... But Niwl never agreed with him. He simply said ‘We will unite souls.’”

Edward, who had remained silent throughout the speculation, scoffed loudly.“Brilliant,.So even though the King doesn’t  _ want  _ to be Chosen, he  _ is _ , and for those who  _ want  _ to be Chosen, they aren’t. So much for disregard to  _ status.” _

“But the mistletoe  _ do  _ disregard status. Look at Percival and Dynnie, or the King and Gwen...”

“Both men are knights,” Samuel pointed out gently. 

“Okay... What about Elen and Carys? They’re both servants.”

Edward just scoffed louder, and if possible, scowled even more. Merlin rolled his eyes at the dramatics: it was well known that the servant was entitled. His prejudice had been stoked and festered during Uther’s reign. Yet despite his clear loathing for the nobility which he served, he was not an ardent supporter of Arthur and Gwen’s courtship, viewing the latter as betraying her ideals for the power and wealth that Queen Consort would receive.

Niamh rubbed the wine glass vigorously, the material squealing in pain under the pressure. “ _ Fine _ . How about Ross and Poppy?”

“ _ Or _ ,” Angharad snickered, “George and Mollie.”

“ _ George?  _ As in, George the Brass Man?”

“And  _ Mollie _ ?” So invested in this new piece of gossip, Tomos had stopped working completely. Sitting back, he gaped at the rest of the servants.

“I think they are rather well suited for one another.”

“Don’t be mean now,” Niamh scolded Samuel, who remained undeterred. “George is a perfectly nice man.”

Samuel rolled his eyes. “He’s obsessed with  _ brass  _ Niamh. Not woman, not food,  _ brass.” _

“And? I am sure that there are  _ lots _ of very interesting things about brass.”

“I have never met such a dull man in my life _.  _ And to think that  _ he _ was Chosen? With  _ Mollie _ ?”

Immediately, Samuel changed tack once Edward had declared his position. Gone was the good natured smirk, replaced with polite fury.

“We can’t all find our soul mates Edward. Some of us will have to wait our turn. That doesn’t mean that we are any less important, or less worthy. It simply means that we will not receive love straight away. There is nothing wrong with that. What you should concentrate on is the fact that we receive love and  _ will  _ receive love regardless of the quantity. We should be  _ grateful.” _

“ _ I  _ should have been matched with Mollie, not  _ George.  _ The only thing that George can woo is brass and even then, it’s hard for him.” Edward retorted snidely, an ugly sneer on his face.

“That’s a horrible thing to say!” Niamh cried. “Just cos George isn’t the best at people doesn’t mean that he should be denied the chance of finding love.”

“He should be over  _ me.”  _ Edward said viciously.

****

It turned out that there were many people who thought like Edward: that only they deserve love, or at least, receive it first. Even though it was Yuletide, their hearts remained closed to the practices they carried out. Already there were reports of rejected lovers feeling the wrath of the mistletoe, and though it was not an intentional side-effect, the Warlock was glad it was in place. He always forgot just how cruel humans could be. Thankfully, there were also those like Niamh, or Tomos, who believed that love should be rewarded to everybody, and that you only had to wait your turn. Every trek through the castle became a quest for information as Merlin studied those he passed. 

Wondering _. _

He noticed the way that people walked, like how Huw seemed to almost float on air as he moved through the corridor, or how Mererid seemed intent on cracking the flagstones beneath her. Or how Katniss seemed dazed, taking in everything like a newborn lamb, whilst Gale stormed through, an expression of thunder on his face.

Did they appreciate his gift? Did they hate the ones that were already bonded?

“Here you are Merlin,” Biodyngwyn called, gesturing for the manservant to join her. 

Picking his way carefully through the crowd, Merlin carefully dodged the various servants bustling about. He stayed well away from the tables: Mary would kill him if anything happened this close to the feast, especially now that the mistletoe had been announced. Piled in front of Biodyn was the usual array of splendid food, and immediately he began to transfer the dishes to his tray.

“You’re late,” Biodyn said. “You’re lucky I realised; food’s still hot so you shouldn’t get into too much trouble.”

“Thanks Biodyngwyn.” Merlin looked up, studying her as she tended to her assigned concoctions. “It’s nice to see you happy.”

“It’s nice to  _ be  _ happy,” She replied instantly, her eyes sparkling in a way that he hadn’t seen for a long time as she flashed the Warlock a grin. “I never thought… I thought that Percival would never pay attention to  _ me.” _

Strangely, the answering smile to her proclamation was a melancholy one. “How could he not? You are no less worthy than he is. Love makes equals of us all in the end.”

Biodyngwyn flushed. “Can’t believe I’ve been warned about Gwaine with your gift of the gab. If I didn’t know better, with that attitude I might think you charmed our mistletoe!”

“Never fear, your heart is safe with me.” Merlin winked and smiled again, though the actions lacked the energy needed for such a flirtatious action.

Unexpectedly, though Biodyn scoffed goodnaturedly and sent him on his way, she too seemed reticent in her response. A thoughtful gaze followed his departure even as the Head Cook roared out orders which her underlings scrambled to obey. Merlin however, remained oblivious to the attention, his mind elsewhere as he plodded up the many floors of the citadel. For once, he was glad that the corridors was unusually quiet. Typically they would have been bustling this early in the day, servants scrambling to complete the morning chores before the nobles set to mischief. Even with Yuletide preparations, the halls he traversed were silent. The echo of his footsteps reverberating through the stone reflected the painful beats of his heart, the flashes of memories providing all the company he needed.

Looking up, he found a mistletoe plant hanging crookedly against a tapestry that had been decorated with boroughs of holly. He studied it, carefully taking in its details. The leaves were a glistening emerald green, the berries snow white. Merlin didn’t know if it was a normal branch of mistletoe, or if it was a special enchanted one of his. He didn’t know if the enchantment would work on everybody, or if it would only work on the few. He didn’t know if it would last forever or fade before the work was complete.

But he did know one thing.

He would give everything to be Chosen, to be able to see Freya again. To touch her, to feel her, to _be_ with her.

_ Everything. _

* * *

**Arthur’s POV**

As usual, his manservant didn’t bother to knock when he entered the King’s Chambers and, as usual, the King didn’t bother to look up. No matter how many times he tried to drum it into Merlin’s head, Arthur knew that he would never learn to knock. It was simply one of those annoying traits that he seemed to have.

“You’re late,” Arthur said, not bothering to raise his eyes from the document that he was reading.

“That’s what happens when you give me other chores to do. I have to do them  _ first.”  _ Merlin replied unperturbed. From the sounds emitting from the area that he was in, Arthur guessed that he was setting the food out. It was probably cold. “Of course, if you knew about that, then you wouldn’t be such a prat.”

Though his concentration was thoroughly destroyed, Arthur attempted to keep on working. He was not in the mood for Merlin’s antics today. He had a lot of work to do, even more than usual because of the Yuletide Banquet and…

And Guinevere.

“Food’s ready.”

“I’m not hungry.” 

In his peripheral vision, the King saw Merlin’s head rear up in shock. Eyes settled on him soon after. It was unlike him to reject food. He liked it,  _ needed  _ it after his training with the Knights. It was important to keep his strength up, moreso when he was coming down with what was beginning to look like a  _ stupid  _ bug right before this banquet.

Why in Camelot’s name had he agreed to the stupid thing?

“You know, my mother didn’t make this. You  _ can  _ eat it. Although, I think that the food she had made was absolutely fine and-“

Merlin’s voice dulled into a low whine, a drone that would  _ not be quiet. _

“Merlin –“

“Shut up?” 

“You got it.” Arthur replied, forcing his attention back to his work.

_ Breathe in. _

Tensing his body, he drew breath in, gritting his teeth slightly against as he felt it. Ever since that incident with Lord Harold and the whole ‘Chosen’ business, Arthur had been feeling ill: a pain in his chest which refused to be shifted. It was getting worse too, like he had been stabbed many times over, or ones of his limbs had been hacked off.

_ Breathe out. _

Letting himself relax, he slowly let out his breath, hoping that some of the pain would go too. It didn’t. As usual. And silently, the King cursed himself for letting it happen, for letting himself feel for a girl who he could never be with. He had heard the rumours, gossip which had only gained strength when their courtship was broken but the festivities continued. 

For a girl that no matter how brilliant, how kind, how beautiful she was, was called such disgusting things was despicable.

Camelot, his beautiful, featuring hatred Camelot, was not ready to have a servant as a Queen.

Agravaine was right; his kingdom should come before his heart.

Merlin let the silence reign for a few moments, unaware of the tension that the other occupant in the room was feeling, before pursing his lips together and began to whistle. Loudly. The tune fell from his lips with ease, the rise and fall of the haunting melody  _ Once in Royal Dragon’s City  _ filling the emptiness.

* * *

Arthur stood in the doorway of her house, the door shut carefully behind him as he gazed at his Love. She was so absorbed in her task that she didn’t notice him. Steadily, she lit the candles one by one in the ritual of old, a tradition heralding the approaching Yuletide. He smiled, enjoying the sight of her at ease. Even though they had been courting for several months now, she was still sometimes hesitant in his vicinity, a lifetime of teachings constraining her thoughts and behaviours. Finishing with her candles, Guinevere brushed her hands on her petticoat and stood, humming all the while. Just as Arthur was about to announce his presence, she opened her mouth, and began to sing.

_ Once in Royal Dragon’s city,  _ _   
_ _ Stood a lonely cattle shed. _ _   
_ _ Where a mother laid her baby,  _ _   
_ _ In a manger for his bed;  _ _   
_ _ Hunith was that mother mild,  _ _   
_ _ The Lord Emrys, her little child. _

_ And when our eyes at last shall see him,  _ _   
_ _ Through his own redeeming love;  _ _   
_ _ For that child’s so dear and gentle _ _   
_ _ Love resides in heaven above;  _ _   
_ _ Apart forever, joined by love _

_ Kiss’d a year by Yuletide’s dove _

Before the last note faded, Arthur had Gwen wrapped in his arms. He was helpless in her song’s thrall, carried along like a pebble in a stream. 

“That was beautiful,” He said, placing a kiss into her hair and against her cheek.

Predictably, Gwen’s cheeks darkened in embarrassment, though for what, Arthur wasn’t sure. He had spoken the truth; her singing was ethereal. If he didn’t know better, he would say it was magical.

“I- I didn’t see you were there.”

Arthur chuckled. “You never do.”

He mimicked her singing, his whistling joyously out of tune. In his arms, she sighed and twisted around to face him.

“It’s my favourite song. It’s so sadly happy, you know?”

“I confess I do not.”

“You probably think I’m strange, don’t you?” 

“In an endearing kind of way.” 

She laughed before sighing in contentment, leaning back to relax fully. She tilted her head back, a blissful smile on her lips as she gazed at him.

“I suppose that’s one of the reasons why I love you,” Arthur murmured.

* * *

No. He couldn’t think of that. Not her, not now.

_ Breathe in. _

Arthur could feel a migraine coming on from the blasted tune that the idiot was singing-

_ Breathe out. _

He clenched his eyes shut and breathed ou-

_ “Mer _ lin shut  _ up!” _

Surprisingly, his manservant stopped. Wheeling round to face him his mouth was already open, no doubt to produce another snarky retort. The King however, would not have it. There was too much work to do. His chest hurt, and his servant was  _ not helping. _

“But-“

“OUT. GET OUT!”

Merlin’s eyes went wide, hurt flashing briefly in the cobalt. Cool politeness quickly smothered it, and the door was uncharacteristically closed quietly behind him. The King sighed in relief, irked at an action which was nominally polite. Consciously, he unclenched his fists he hadn’t even realised he had made.

The rumours about him being a Chosen were false.

His memories concerning Guinevere did not matter.

He was alone, and he always will be. 

For the good of the Kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberty with Once in Royal David's City to write the alternate lyrics. It's my favourite carol, and was written in my hometown - so it's Welsh to boot!

**Author's Note:**

> This year has been pretty terrible for everybody. Due to Christmas being effectively cancelled in the UK, I decided to dig this out of my archive to help spread a little festive cheer. Every little 'elps, as the supermarket says! Luckily for you, the first nine chapters have already been written, and are simply needing updating/reworking as my writing has improved somewhat compared to when I wrote it. Or at least, I hope it has...
> 
> If you spot any grammar or spelling mistakes, please let me know. Unfortunately, my laptop has memorised most of my... unsavoury attempts at spelling, and now can't differentiate it from the correct form!


End file.
